


crescendo

by justlikeswitchblades



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Fights, KNBxNBA, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 08:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13454481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeswitchblades/pseuds/justlikeswitchblades
Summary: Tatsuya, leaning forward in his chair, is looking right at him behind steepled hands.Fuck.





	crescendo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stephanericher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/gifts).



> happy 10+12, happy six months, thank you for pushing me to challenge myself in the most amazing ways. i love you absolutely.

Taiga’s fucked up.

He’s parked himself courtside, in one of those folding chairs with the Bulls logo printed on top of a vinyl seat. There’s a towel over his hair, and his shoulders are heaving in time with his breath, a frantic series of gasps that are ever so slightly steadying, like he's coming down after one too many sets of suicides. The floorboards are shining beneath his sneakers, rusty matte high-tops with black sections on the toe and heel, starting to show the scuff marks of two weeks’ of wear. A bead of sweat rolls down and off his cheek, distorting the grain just so.

God, if only he could rewind; the world feels so damn heavy right now.

He tunes in to an ad from a local bank playing on the United Center loudspeakers; it shifts into a pop song he knows half the lyrics of, and part of him hopes the broadcast has switched to commercial by now.

He leans back in his chair, his eyes drawn magnetic across court, past the red and blue bodies gathered outside the center circle, to Tatsuya, in a sports jacket and jeans, sitting in the row behind the Knicks’ lineup.

Tatsuya, leaning forward in his chair, is looking right at him behind steepled hands.

Fuck.

Taiga stands up from the chair, and the towel drops. His natural step brings him back onto the court, toeing past the sideline, and he can hear the shutters from the press firing off. He looks over his shoulder, at the coach and the red-poloed staffer that are waiting for him. 

He should go.

He should go, and yet he turns back to the court, catching the eye of the bald Knick who’s still glaring at him, clutching his jersey to his nose.

“What.” Taiga spits. “Wanna go?”

There’s a clatter from the bench, and Bradley and Shoemaker are in front of him, pushing at his chest, telling him to settle down. He turns away from them, and sweeps his foot out, toppling the chair over as some sort of punctuation. He keeps his head high as he walks back to the locker room.

***

He doesn’t as much arrive early to the press conference next afternoon as he does loiter around the arena long enough after practice until it’s close to time. First in line after the coaches, rounded brim of his cap tugged down low over his eyes, still showing off more of himself than he wants to be available right now. He stares straight ahead, save for a glance at their social guy, who doesn’t seem to have his phone in hand. That makes him relax, if only by a fraction; the only thing that’s keeping him from white-knuckling his water bottle is the crinkling the plastic would make.

The first reporter that stands up isn’t too familiar. White, average height for someone who doesn’t play.

“Taiga! Over the past two months, we’ve seen you dunking and throwing up twos, but you’ve been scoring more threes than what’s been expected out of you--more threes than you shot and scored last year combined. Are you transitioning into a stretch four position? How did you react to that when the coaching staff brought it up?”

“Shit, don't go revealing all my secrets,” Taiga laughs. “Yeah, I'm trying. I like to be under the rim, and I love to dunk--that hasn't changed. I was hesitant at first, but I’m glad the coaches still think I’m flexible after almost a decade. The fact that this organization and this team trust me to grow into this role, while still letting me own my own game? That means a lot to me.” 

“Is there anything else you plan to work on over your two-game suspension?”

Taiga shrugs. “As far as I know, I'm not banned from practice, so it should be business as usual.”

Sam, from the Sun-Times, is up next.

“There's been a lot of talk about what Jamal said to you last night--reports of what was said, what might have been said, attempts at lip-reading, all kinds of stuff. Can you clear this whole situation up by telling us what actually happened?”

Taiga lets a hand close around his water bottle. “Sure.”

“Multiple players, along with other sources, reported that he called you a homophobic slur. Is this true?”

“Yeah,” Taiga takes a drink of water, tries to not make a show of it. “He called me a fucking faggot.”

“And you punched him for that.”

Taiga raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, I did.”

“Now, there’s no denying what Jamal said was homophobic. But then there are also some people out there saying _you’re_ homophobic for reacting to Jamal’s statement like that. What would you say to those people?”

“Honestly, I don’t follow politics too closely,” Taiga admits with a rueful smile. “I don’t want to get caught up in some PC culture argument. I knew he was saying it to be rude, and I got caught up in my emotions, and I regret that. But I don’t regret punching him.”

“You don’t?”

“Nah,” Taiga grins a little. “After all, I’m the fucking faggot.”

“Sorry, Taiga. You’re saying--”

“I’m gay.” Taiga lifts his hands. “Not how I expected to come out, but there you have it.”

Another reporter raises her hand, chiming in. “If that's the case, do you think either suspension is fair? Jamal was suspended for the same amount of games as you were.”

“I punched him; there's no denying that,” Taiga shrugs. “I'm not trying to fight the suspension; I don't think have the grounds to say it was self-defense, or something like that. At least I won't try to fight it. It's easy to imagine the comments sections if I did--what if I'm bullshitting and making this up? Like you said, we got suspended for the same amount of games. That's a start.”

“What would you say to someone who might think you’re making this up?”

“I've been out to the team and the coaching staff for the better part of a year now. The only person that's really gonna be that surprised about this is my agent, but it's more the delivery than the content.”

Taiga cracks a grin at the murmuring around the room, phones to ears, screens illuminating faces. He waits a beat, then drums his fingers on the table.

“Any other questions?”

***

Taiga drives back towards the Loop, going south to take the long route home. He mixes in with the inbound traffic clogging up Lake Shore, and takes a moment at one of the longer stoplights to pull out his phone. He scrolls through a growing amount of unread messages to find the thread he's looking for--Tatsuya, who still hasn't responded to his texts, save for an _“at the team hotel”_ to his _“you okay?”_ when he got a little too paranoid the other night. The light turns green, and Taiga eases forward. He pushes the call button and puts the phone on speaker, setting it in the cup holder.

“Hey,” He says when Tatsuya picks up. “You coming over to the apartment today?”

“Been here for an hour,” Tatsuya answers, mild as ever. “Didn't think you'd be at practice, but I had my spare key with me, so I settled in.”

“Good. I'll be there soon.” Taiga feels that smile creep over his face, the one he can't help when he thinks of Tatsuya. “I missed you.”

He listens to Tatsuya take a breath. “I missed you too.”

“Hey,” Taiga says after a moment, flipping his turn signal on. “Is your phone working okay?”

“Yeah?” Taiga chews his lip; Tatsuya’s voice is quizzical. “What makes you think it isn’t?”

Taiga shrugs to himself, taking the next turn. The signal clicks off. “You didn’t respond to some of my texts last night.”

“Oh. Yeah, I saw those.” Tatsuya’s voice is colder, clipped. Taiga’s stomach churns.

“And...you didn’t feel like responding to them?”

Tatsuya exhales, tinged with exhaustion. Taiga grips the steering wheel tighter.

“So we’re fighting now, huh.”

“I wouldn’t say we’re fighting right now,” Tatsuya butts back in, his voice light in the way it always gets when he’s feeling passive-aggressive. “But we might be when you get home.”

Taiga is caught between wanting to roll his eyes, and mouthing a curse.

(He does both.)

“Great,” sighs Taiga, hanging up. “I look forward to it.”

***

Taiga sits in the parking garage for five, ten minutes, maybe longer; he had shut the truck off when he pulled into his spot, and he doesn’t feel like checking his phone. The only thing keeping him company is the white Alfa Romeo convertible in the next spot over. He leans his head back, staring at a spot above the windshield.

There’s a part of him that hopes, if he sits here long enough, exhaling ‘fuck’ like a tortured prayer, Tatsuya won’t be upstairs waiting for him. But he knows Tatsuya; he knows himself, and that they’re both too stubborn to just let this pass. In addition to that, the cold is seeping through the doors. He hops out. As he waits for an elevator, he resists the urge to pull his hood back up; he feels naked, exposed.

He shoves his hands into his hoodie pocket.

Tatsuya is waiting for him when his key turns in the lock. Not up in his face, not accosting him, but a little ways off--leaning against the back of the couch, his phone in hand. He looks up when Taiga comes out of the entryway. His cheeks puff out with a soft sigh, his frown shifts into a hard line. He looks tired--and looking at Taiga causes him to let out a broken laugh, shaking his head as he looks away. Taiga’s eyes drop to the floor.

“If I just.” Taiga swallows. “If I just apologize, and say I’m sorry--”

“Taiga.” 

Taiga looks up--god. They don’t fight all that often for him to give Tatsuya shit about hiding his emotions--he can usually see past it when he needs to--but Tatsuya cracking himself open, throwing his veil to the wind? It’s another level of hell. He’s smiling, almost gentle, and Taiga feels his own face crumple, tears burning in his eyes.

“You know it doesn’t work like that.”

“Can you explain why you’re so pissed off, then?” Tatsuya cocks his head, eyes wide, and Taiga lifts his hands.

“I mean, I have a pretty good idea why, but--”

“But what? How about that _‘the only one who’s gonna be surprised is my agent’_ bullshit, for a start?” Tatsuya mocks with air quotes, then throws his hands up. “What about your fucking _boyfriend,_ Taiga? You know how I feel about coming out. I know you’re impulsive; I know last night was impulsive. But today? Today was fucking premeditated, and I sure would have appreciated some advance notice.”

“Okay. Okayokayokay,” Taiga grimaces. “I get why you’re mad right now. But let’s rewind for a second--why didn’t you answer my texts last night?”

“Really?” Tatsuya scoffs. “That’s your biggest concern right now?”

“Yes!” Taiga laughs in disbelief, gesturing with his phone in hand. “We’re long-distance! You practically live in there! I was concerned!”

“You wanna know why I didn’t answer your texts?” Tatsuya asks, narrowing his eyes. “I’ll tell you why. Because I watched that fight. I watched the fight, and the fallout, and I knew you were going to do something like this today.”

“Tatsuya, that’s--”

“Don’t tell me I’m wrong,” spits Tatsuya, standing up straighter, his upper lip curling. “Look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t rehearse that faggot line in the mirror.”

“I didn’t rehearse it in the mirror,” Taiga huffs, quiet. “I said a few times in the car before going to practice.”

“Yeah, okay.” Tatsuya rolls his eyes. “Like that makes a big difference.”

“God, that’s not even the worst part!” Tatsuya continues, combing a hand through his hair. He exhales, a loud noise, and starts to pace. 

“I come to your apartment, thinking oh, maybe I was in the wrong about your tantrum last night. It won’t even be a thing. I settle in, I take a shower, I start planning lunch. And then I check my phone. And I have a bunch of texts from Daiki, and then Alex calls me, asking if I’m okay, and she’s freaking out, and I have no clue what’s happening, because I’m fine. So she has to break it down for me, and then I check Twitter and watch some shaky cell phone video, and read the Bulls’ statement of support they put out about you, and I have to stop, because I just feel. Betrayed.”

His hands fall to his sides. The splint on his middle finger glints in the light.

“I get wanting attention. I get being selfish--I thought I understood acting like that better than you did. But this doesn’t just affect you, Taiga. This _hurts._ ”

Taiga blinks. He opens his mouth, twitching as he's sampling the words before making a decision. 

“But...I never said I had a boyfriend. I didn’t say you had to come out.”

“You could just keep making excuses, sure,” Tatsuya shrugs. “Or you could apologize.”

“I’m so--” 

Tatsuya groans, interrupting him.

“Don’t just say it because I want you to, say it because you mean it!” He perches himself on a barstool, a little more exaggerated than necessary, his forehead in his hand. “Fuckin’ manners one-oh-one, Taiga…”

“Thanks, Tatsuya,” Taiga sighs wearily, feeling pissed off in his own right. “Always happy to have you berate me.”

“Would you like to hear more? After all, I--”

Tatsuya freezes mid-sentence, catching himself on his words. His head shakes as he mouths an angry curse at the floor, the click of his tongue just audible. Taiga sets his jaw, and swallows.

“You what.” Tatsuya exhales; his shoulders shake.

“I don’t want to say it.” Taiga steps closer to him, puffing out his chest.

“I don’t care. Say it.”

“I went to college, and you didn’t,” mumbles Tatsuya, looking up at Taiga. He inhales, exhales, so quick it’s almost one movement; his eyes are glassy. “That was mean. I’m sorry.”

Taiga closes his eyes. He opens them, looks at the ceiling. Then, he looks back at Tatsuya.

“Is me coming out really this awful? That it turns you into this?”

“No,” Tatsuya answers immediately, with urgency, his voice just as quiet. He closes his eyes, wincing at himself. “I’m just.” He goes silent again, searching for the right words.

“You’ve always been better than me,” He finally admits, his words measured. “You coming out seems like further proof of that. School is the one thing I have over you, and even then, it’s bullshit. Because basketball is the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do.” 

Tatsuya sniffs, his shoulders shaking. Taiga steps closer, and puts a hand between his shoulder blades, rubbing his back, trying his best not to care if it means he’s ceding ground; he knows Tatsuya isn’t the type to think like that right now. He leans over to close the space between them, his forehead to Tatsuya’s temple, his arm around his shoulder. Then, he steps back. Tatsuya stands up, but doesn’t bridge the few squares of kitchen tile between them.

“I don’t get how coming out makes me better than you. Like, you’re right,” Taiga laughs. “It was selfish, and impulsive; I don’t know if _I_ understand how serious it actually is. I should have talked to you about it--sat down with you, and really talked about it, beyond all the ‘what-if’ kinds of conversations we’ve had. I didn’t think about it in terms of my job, or you. I was just thinking about my pride, and I should have known better. I really am sorry.”

“You should have,” sighs Tatsuya. “But clearly I get emotional, too, so I get why you didn’t.”

“I’m happy to be with you, Taiga,” Tatsuya smiles. “I’m so happy to be with you. Part of me wants to show you off to the world, to be open with you in public. But I guess I’m still selfish. I don’t want to be the greatest Japanese basketball player, or the greatest gay basketball player; I don’t want those taglines. I just want to be the greatest, period.”

“And when it comes to those taglines,” Tatsuya bridges the gap between them, hand going to the back of Taiga’s neck. “I’ve got some steep competition.”

Taiga smiles. “Me too.”

Their kiss is light, brief. Taiga nods at the hand at Tatsuya’s side.

“How’s the finger?”

“One more week. Then some PT, and I’ll be back.”

“Back for when I’m in New York?”

“I better be,” Tatsuya smiles, kissing his cheek. Taiga rubs at his waist.

“How long have you got here?”

“Few days. At least till you leave on your roadie.” 

Taiga smiles; it’s never enough, but it’ll keep them both satisfied. He leans his forehead against Tatsuya’s, for a moment, then pulls back.

“Listen. If you need me to sleep on the couch for a night, or anything like that--it’s hard to be apart from you, but I get it. I wouldn’t forgive me immediately for being so reckless.”

“I won’t,” Tatsuya tells him, but lets a smile creep onto his face as he leans in for another kiss. “But I can try to speed it up. I missed you.”

Taiga squeezes Tatsuya in a hug, making him laugh.

“I always miss you.”

“I know. I hope you can forgive me, too?”

“Should be pretty easy, now that you’re here.”

Tatsuya exhales. Quieter than before--lighter, happier. He closes his eye, fingers sliding over Taiga’s neck, his clothes, savoring him, remembering what it’s like to touch him. Watching him almost feels too intimate, like Taiga should excuse himself for not having explicit permission. But it’s so nice to watch, the way Tatsuya looks at him when he’s done, pupil blown, his watered-down Cheshire grin.

“Let’s take an hour,” He says, casual. “You call the people you need to call. Call Alex, read all the texts you’ve gotten,”

Taiga nods. Neither make a move; Tatsuya’s head is dangerously close to leaning onto his shoulder.

“...And we’ll pick up from there.”


End file.
